


The Present Predicament

by ExaltedBrand



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Accidental Death Threats, Beruka Overthinking Everything, Christmas Presents, F/F, Fluff, Misunderstandings, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:08:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28225146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExaltedBrand/pseuds/ExaltedBrand
Summary: Upon discovering an unexpected present among her usual pile of winter festival gifts, Beruka comes to a perfectly logical conclusion.
Relationships: Belka | Beruka & Camilla, Belka | Beruka & Luna | Selena (Mentioned), Belka | Beruka/Mercedes von Martritz
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	The Present Predicament

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing suggestion from [Lothlan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothlan/pseuds/Lothlan)

In Beruka’s line of work, it had always been a necessity to rely on expectations. To anticipate the way a situation was most likely to play out, and to react to the slightest discrepancy with practiced efficiency.

Over the years, the habit had served her well. Assassinations operated on the expectations of a target’s routine, studying their blind spots in orders to isolate the perfect moment for the kill. Infiltration operated on the expectations of patrol routes, of a base’s layout, of the surest way in and out. If she ever came upon a deviation from those expectations—if a target wasn’t where they were expected to be, or if patrols had suddenly changed from their expected routes, or if a certain entrance had been reinforced with an additional contingent of guards—then she knew her mission had likely been compromised, necessitating a backup plan.

Expectations were the surest way to ensure success. Humans were predictable creatures by nature, ever fond of routine; and on the rare occasions that they broke from such routines, she had learned to respond quickly and accordingly. Lethally, if the situation demanded it. Expectations—the confidence to know what would happen and precisely when it would happen, and what to do if it didn’t—had kept her safe in Nohr – and they’d kept her just as safe in Askr.

Even now, in the weeks surrounding Askr’s winter festival, there was an expected order of things. A routine, constant and familiar, that could offer Beruka a rare moment of comfort in a world of uncertainty.

It was expected, for instance, that Princess Camilla was fond of spoiling her two retainers. That every year, without fail, she’d sneak into Beruka’s room when the assassin was otherwise occupied with her duties—whether on patrol, in training, or out in the field—to leave a mountain of gifts at the foot of her bed, sometimes stacked high enough to tower several heads above her. It was expected that they’d always look a certain way, like a signature written out in loud, shameless colours – with black wrapping paper, folded perfectly, that revealed Nohr’s emblem in a pattern when caught under the dull light of her room; and with purple ribbons, bright enough to be garish but somehow pleasant all the same, that were tied with the kind of care and affection Camilla reserved only for those dearest to her. It was even expected that there’d be an additional present buried somewhere among Camilla’s: a formless lump of pink paper held together by reels of tape and palpable frustration, far less extravagant than the others but always surprisingly heartfelt in its contents, that made up Selena’s one and only contribution.

It wasn’t expected that there’d be _another_ gift.

To someone less perceptive—to anyone else, really—it might have looked innocuous. Small and blue, no larger than an apple, lost in the sea of blacks and purples and the dash of delicate pink; in the piles upon piles of presents in every shape and size. By all appearances, it was just a present – overshadowed and insignificant among the rest. There should have been no cause to question it.

But it was a discrepancy. A break from the winter festival’s expected routine. A potential danger that she’d failed to draw up contingency plans for.

At first sight, she’d assumed there’d been some kind of mistake. A mix-up, a misstep; something someone had dropped into the wrong room, disoriented by the castle’s labyrinthine layout and seemingly endless corridors. Black, purple, and pink were the colours of her winters. The only colours that mattered – from the only people who cared. Blue was unknown. Unfamiliar. And she’d noticed it immediately.

Something about the package unsettled her. Something about the way it had been placed—concealed between pink and purple, cutting a subtle, harmless contrast—seemed planned. Deliberate. Intended, above all, to draw her eye and her eye alone. As if they’d wanted her to see it; had wanted her to know that someone had intruded on her lone sphere of privacy; had wanted to tell her that she’d let her guard down for a single fatal moment.

When she picked it up, turning over the label and reading the note written in florid, impeccable handwriting, her suspicions were confirmed – and she recognised it for what it really was.

A threat.

> Dear Beruka,
> 
> I do hope you’ve been having a wonderful winter’s festival. You’ve been working so very hard over the past year, always putting in your best every day for the Order of Heroes, and I fear we’ve done precious little to show our gratitude for all your efforts. I’d be delighted if you’d accept this small token of appreciation; and I wish you, Miss Selena, and Princess Camilla a lovely end of year.
> 
> With love and cheer,  
>  _~ The Winter Fairy ~_

It was a carefully crafted letter – like the gift it accompanied. Unassuming, but subtly ruthless. Coded in such a way that to its intended recipient—to her—there could be no mistaking its true intent.

First came the statement that she’d been “working so very hard”. On the surface, it read as praise – but in the proper context, the mockery within the words made itself known. How, in spite of such hard work, she’d let a stranger slip into her room unnoticed; how her efforts hadn’t been enough; how they _wouldn’t_ be enough to prevent whatever they had planned. “To show our gratitude” – well, the meaning of that line was clear as day. They sought some kind of repayment—revenge, reprisal, a recompense paid in blood—for the harm she’d no doubt inflicted on their agents in the course of her duties, for the damage she’d done to their operations. Someone from Múspell, or Embla, or a vengeful Hoshidan lurking within the Order of Heroes. Possibly even a Nohrian. The alias at the very bottom, the ‘Winter Fairy’, recalled a number of Windmire’s most accomplished assassins: the Red Spider, the Summer Rose, the Black Death. A name chosen consciously, perhaps; a ploy to rattle her with the ghosts of her past.

And, of course, there was the direct reference to Princess Camilla and Selena. They knew Beruka wouldn’t have been intimidated by threats to her own life, so they’d focused instead, like a well-aimed knife to her heart, on the only two people in Askr who mattered to her. On the only two people she could gladly call family.

If the intention had been to provoke her, they’d unquestionably succeeded. They’d made it personal. And she had no choice but to respond in kind.

She decided against opening the package. She wasn’t going to give them—whoever they were—the satisfaction of playing along.

* * *

At first, as always, she’d sought Princess Camilla’s counsel. Part of it was out of habit. She operated, above all else, on orders, on assignments, on her liege’s sole discretion; and only a fool of an assassin would have acted in haste, chasing after an unknown enemy without first securing the proper approval of their employer. But more than that, Camilla—as a member of the Nohrian royal family, and the survivor of a painful childhood—had experience in navigating plots against her life – even the plot Beruka herself had once been tasked with carrying out. And so, over a cup of tea in Camilla’s room, Beruka told of her of the gift, of the message, of the threat encoded within – and then fell silent, waiting patiently—waiting through one thoughtful sip, then a second, then a third—to hear the princess’s wisdom.

In just the same manner as the gift, Camilla’s response diverged from her expectations.

“Beruka, darling,” Camilla giggled, placing her cup back down on her saucer. “Your vigilance is as commendable as ever. But I rather fear you may be overthinking this.”

“Hardly, my lady.” Beruka’s voice held steady as stone, and her eyes never wavered. “While the words seem mundane at a glance, it only takes a few moments to discern the hidden meaning. I saw similar messages of its kind while growing up in Windmire. It escapes the scrutiny of guards; but more than that, for many criminals—extortionists, blackmailers, kidnappers—friendliness is the most effective form of intimidation. It implies confidence, and confidence implies power over the recipient.”

“Power. I see.” Camilla sat back in her chair, swinging one leg over the other, and smiled. She wasn’t taking her seriously, and the thought deeply frustrated Beruka. “Well then, dear, you’ve piqued my interest. Tell me. What was it about this little gift that so caught your eye…? What aroused your suspicions?”

“It’s quite simple. The only presents I receive around this time year are from yourself and Selena. Therefore, even without the message spelling out such an obvious threat, an additional one is an irregularity at best.” Beruka paused; raised an eyebrow. “Or am I wrong to be sceptical when something’s out of the ordinary?”

“Goodness, no,” Camilla said, and her smile turned warmer. “Your eye for detail is one of your most remarkable talents, Beruka, and I shouldn’t want to discourage it in the slightest. But I shouldn’t think it impossible, either, that someone else has simply seen you for how lovely you really are. Who’s to say it isn’t a present from the summoner, or from Princess Sharena – or from any of the other delightful heroes we’ve had the pleasure of meeting here? Who’s to say it has to be any more complicated than that?”

“I doubt it.”

“Doubt what? That someone could find you lovely? Why should you?”

Camilla leaned forward, reaching across the table, and gently rested her hands over Beruka’s own. Beruka, not knowing where else to look or what to say, did nothing to avert her gaze.

“Surely, darling,” the princess continued, “you don’t believe yourself unworthy of such kindness. Your talents are second to none. You’re devoted to your work. If you could win Selena and I’s affection, why – I can’t imagine you’d be hard-pressed to win someone else’s in turn…”

Beruka bit her lip. She wanted to point out that it was different with her; that Camilla gave out her affection to anyone and everyone who struck her fancy; that she had only ended up in her service because she was under payment and contract. Such affection wasn’t ‘won’, but rather had fallen into her hands by her circumstances. Even Selena, she was sure, only liked her because those very same circumstances forced them to get along. The idea that someone else could feel genuine affection for her—could like her for any other reason than her loyalty, than her skill as an assassin—was absurd.

She wanted to point all that out and more. But something in Camilla’s expression was insistent, urging her to be kinder to herself, and she couldn’t quite manage her usual cold response.

“If they had nothing to hide,” she said at length, “they would at least have written their name. The choice of anonymity is telling. I see no reason for them to conceal their identity from me if not as a deliberate attempt to—”

“Perhaps they’re simply shy, my dear Beruka.” Camilla drew closer, almost close enough for their foreheads to bump, and winked mischievously. “You’d be surprised. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that some people can be so _very_ reluctant to openly admit their fondness for you… and all the more so if, by wonderful coincidence, the mere sight of you makes their heart flutter.”

* * *

Beruka had come to Camilla for guidance – but she only left her quarters, in the end, with red cheeks and scattered thoughts.

Camilla had been teasing her, of course. She liked to tease her retainers, and she had a talent for it. Beruka wasn’t meant to take her words seriously; wasn’t to earnestly believe that she had some kind of secret admirer, or that a stranger cared enough about her to give her a present. But she still couldn’t understand why Camilla—usually so wise, so attentive to her concerns, so unwilling to let any harm come to her or Selena—was paying no heed to the threat. Why she seemed entirely dismissive of it. Didn’t she see the message for what it clearly was? Didn’t she understand that the three of them were in danger, and that action had to be taken?

She was strong, yes, as Beruka had discovered on their very first meeting – but she wasn’t invincible. The festive season had made the castle’s guards complacent; and if the enemy slipped into Camilla’s quarters as they’d slipped so brazenly into Beruka’s quarters, catching her while she was vulnerable and with neither of her retainers there to protect her… there was no telling how it’d end.

A thought briefly entered her mind. This was a test. A scenario fashioned and fabricated by Camilla to gauge her response; to judge her loyalty, her responsibility, her reliability in the face of a threat made to a member of the royal family. Her dismissiveness wasn’t negligence, as seemed so uncharacteristic of her, but rather an attempt to lead her astray; to see if she could be distracted from her duty by the promise of happiness. A moment—brief but precious—to close her eyes and rest.

Once, long ago, they had discussed Beruka’s allegiances at length: whether she served Camilla out of obligation or gratitude, whether she returned Camilla’s affection, whether she could be made to abandon Camilla for another employer offering the right sum. Perhaps this was the princess’s way of making certain that her devotion hadn’t wavered in the years since.

The more she dwelled on those conversations, however, the less convinced she found herself. The note’s handwriting was entirely distinct from Camilla’s, for one; but moreover, she’d never been the sort to doubt her retainers. Not their skill, not their loyalty. Often, if anything, she had too much faith in others. For her two most trusted attendants, she’d picked a girl who kept as many secrets as she did accessories, and a girl who’d once been hired to kill her.

But that was just the kind of woman she was. Such treatment—undeserved as it felt—had never given Beruka cause for complaint.

No, she decided. No, this wasn’t a test. This was real. Camilla was wise, and confident, and formidable, but she could also be wrong; could be swept up so easily by the spirit of the season and misled into believing their enemies would wait until the winter festival was over. Camilla could make mistakes, just as anyone could. Their enemies were always on the move, and the warning left in Beruka’s room was proof of that.

She’d meant what she’d said all those years back. Her devotion to Camilla, for as long as she remained in her service, was absolute. And she’d do anything to keep her safe.

* * *

Admittedly, she hadn’t expected the culprit to be quite so easy to identify – nor had she expected to find someone so unassuming at the end of her investigation. Once again, her expectations had failed to align with reality.

It had been a simple process. Too simple, she thought. In her secondary capacity as a spy, she had experience in intercepting and interpreting communications between her targets; and it had only taken a cursory glance through the Order of Heroes’ letters to find an exact match for the note’s handwriting: the flowery, excessive style that seemed so harmless, betraying none of the malicious intent lurking within.

As with the way they’d placed the gift, the circumstances troubled her. It almost seemed like they’d wanted to make it effortless; as if they’d meant for her to find them, as if they were daring her to make her move.

Perhaps they were inexperienced. Perhaps they’d just hidden themselves poorly, and hadn’t anticipated that she’d go so far. Or perhaps it was a trap, and she was knowingly playing right into their hands.

Whatever the case, she now had a name.

Mercedes von Martritz. A priestess summoned to Askr from the land of Fódlan, and an enigma in every regard.

By all accounts, there should have been no reason to suspect her. No reason to believe that she could be involved in such dark designs. She and Beruka, for one, hardly knew each other. They’d only fought a small handful of battles together, and in that little time—though Mercedes had healed Beruka’s wounds once or twice, and though Beruka had protected her, in return, from an enemy on a single occasion—they’d never shared a word. And in her daily routine around the castle, under Beruka’s close surveillance, she seemed the very picture of a saint – flitting from hero to hero with the sweetest of smiles, with giggles and cheer in nauseating abundance, and with trays of tea and treats that she offered to anyone she came upon without exception. She was popular throughout the Order, cherished for her compassion, and hadn’t even the slightest bit of traceable history in espionage.

As far as Beruka could tell, she was utterly spotless. Perfect in every conceivable way.

That must have been the quality that made her so effective an agent. So dangerous; so deceptive. Even at her most cynical, Beruka had struggled, at times, not to be taken in by the act – by the way she spent her afternoons reading festive stories to the younger heroes, or baking pastries to be given away to the villages surrounding the castle, or lighting up the dull, dreary halls with red ribbons and garlands. It seemed implausible—impossible—that someone like her could have penned such a cold-blooded threat, even on behalf of her unknown masters.

Briefly, Beruka wondered if she’d been mistaken. If she’d misinterpreted the message in some way; taken the wrong meaning from the gift. If a lifetime of caution—of treating the unknown with the deepest suspicion—had conditioned her to invent enemies from the slightest anomaly.

If Mercedes had given her the present in earnest.

It was a nice thought, certainly. Strangely comforting. To imagine, just for a moment, that it was possible for someone to be so selfless, so compassionate – that someone could hold enough unconditional love in their heart to exceed even the affection that Camilla held for her siblings and her retainers. But Beruka was never wrong. Reality was cold and cruel, and no-one could be so kind.

Mercedes had left the gift in her room. Mercedes had left the message accompanying it. Mercedes had threatened her, and Selena, and her liege. The thought was more than enough to dispel any lingering doubts and distractions.

Beruka’s mind was clear; her decision made. Anyone who threatened the people she cared about would be eliminated.

* * *

When Beruka spoke, her words cut through the silence.

“Move, and you’re dead.”

The cold steel of her axe pressed gently up against Mercedes’ neck from behind – and the priestess, immediately understanding her position, froze in place. A smart decision. But then, the woman was no fool.

Beruka had chosen her moment carefully. A stretch between the dining hall and gardens in Mercedes’ daily routine, where the hallways darkened and narrowed and the presence of guards drew dangerously sparse. It had long been a weak spot in the castle’s defences, as Beruka had noted in her daily patrols; but today, she was glad for it. Today, it offered the perfect opportunity for answers.

“You left that gift in my room,” she said. “The message, too. Explain yourself.”

“Beruka…?” There was the briefest flicker of surprise – then all too quickly, it gave way to friendly familiarity. “Goodness. I’d wondered who you might have been! However did you find me out?”

An admission? So soon?

It was disquieting. Far from sounding frightened, Mercedes was calm and steady. As if the whole matter—being stopped in the corridor, having an axe pressed to her neck—were little more than a joke.

Briefly, Beruka’s eyes darted around the hallway. All was quiet, all was under control – but maybe the woman was calm because she’d anticipated this. Maybe there were agents in the dark, making ready to strike, and she’d wandered into the jaws of a trap.

Fine. Let them try.

“You were sloppy,” she said, returning her gaze to the back of Mercedes’ head. “An alias is worthless if you don’t conceal your handwriting. A child could have figured it out.”

Mercedes giggled – a sweet, chilling noise that echoed down the empty hall. Instinctively, Beruka’s grip tightened on her axe.

“Dear me,” she said. “Well, examined like that, I suppose it must be quite obvious. Annie’s always telling me that I could stand to put a little more effort into hiding it… though I must confess, I’ve never thought the secrecy should matter too much so long as the gift’s meaning comes through.”

‘Annie’. Another name. A co-conspirator, perhaps. Or the mastermind giving Mercedes her orders. Beruka made a mental note of it for later.

“I assure you,” she muttered, “the meaning came through quite clearly.”

“I’m glad.” Somehow, Mercedes still seemed entirely at ease, and Beruka could hear her smiling. “I thought it was such a shame, you know – how I could never find the time to thank you for all your efforts, and for looking out for me when we were working together. A little gift like that… well, it felt like the least I could offer.”

Slowly, she turned her head to face the younger girl – and Beruka, seized by panic, pressed the blade more firmly against Mercedes’ neck.

“Don’t _move_ …!”

The words came out stronger this time. More insistent, more dangerous; making her intent as clear as possible. But she also heard a quiver of weakness in them – as if simply talking with Mercedes had let the doubts creep back into her mind. As if she were suddenly afraid to stain her axe with this woman’s blood.

Mercedes must have heard the weakness, too – because, after pausing only briefly at Beruka’s command, she dared to look just a little further. Her head turned again, Beruka’s axe faltered, and their eyes met in the dark.

“Beruka…”

Mercedes’ voice was as collected as ever, full of compassion; but her airy, untroubled serenity was gone, replaced with focused attention. With concern.

“Is everything okay?”

A long pause passed between them, and Beruka studied Mercedes in the resulting silence.

She knew that this woman was a stranger. An enemy to be dispatched without hesitation. But she couldn’t understand why she’d sounded so genuine. Why she was looking at Beruka with nothing but warmth and sympathy. And how she could stay so calm—be so understanding—in the face of death.

If she was innocent, then where had she learned to treat a blade to her neck with such familiarity?

“I think I understand,” Mercedes said. There was a strangely earnest quality to her words, and Beruka, against her better judgement, couldn’t help but listen. “I’ve startled you, haven’t I?”

Beruka’s eyes narrowed, not quite ready to admit her own weakness. “Startled?”

“Yes. I thought I’d surprise you with a gift you weren’t expecting, but… perhaps that was wrong of me. I’d hardly given any thought as to whether it was something you would have wanted or appreciated – even when I know full well how alarming it can be to receive an unwelcome surprise. If it distressed you in any way, I ought to apologise at once.”

Beruka said nothing – but she felt her arm slacken at the elbow, and the axe lost its weight against Mercedes’ flesh.

She wasn’t sure what she was doing: wasn’t sure if she was letting her guard down intentionally, trying to draw out the enemies lurking in the shadows; or if Mercedes’ soft, affectionate tone had worked on her mind in some way, preying on her doubts and making her vulnerable.

But she was still listening.

“It’s quite alright, Beruka. It’s my fault. I really do have such a terrible habit of acting on the silliest ideas.” She paused for a moment, as if considering her words – then smiled. “If you’d like—if it’d make things better—I can take it back. I really don’t mind at all. I’d rather see you happy and comfortable than stewing in worries because of my thoughtlessness.”

An easy offer to make now, of course. Now, when the threat had already been delivered; when she’d successfully provoked Beruka into action; when Beruka had played her hand and left herself at her weakest—

She realised, in that very moment, that none of her assumptions were making any sense. None of them were lining up with reality.

How would Mercedes, bound by a magical contract to serve the Order of Heroes, be working in secret for the enemy? What was the point in warning Beruka of a plot ahead of time? And what good would it do anyone to directly admit their involvement in such a plot when they were a mere slip away from losing their head?

Had Camilla been right? After all this time, had she been overthinking the situation?

Had she made a mistake?

Slowly, limply, she lowered her axe, letting it fall to her feet and scrape along the stone floor – and noticed Mercedes’ shoulders lower, in turn, with the slightest sigh of relief.

“Why?” she murmured. “If you’re telling the truth, then why waste your energy on me? Why go to all that trouble for someone you don’t know? A stranger?”

“Here in Askr, the winter festival is a time for showing your appreciation to the people around you,” Mercedes said. “Friends or family, loved ones or strangers… they’re all important. We’re all in the same situation, no matter our differences. And in a world as strange and unfamiliar as this one, I’d feel simply awful if I let anyone’s efforts go unacknowledged. For all the bright lights and celebrations around this time of year, I know it can often be such a lonely time for a lot of people.”

Then, somehow, her smile grew even brighter, and Beruka felt something stir in her chest, setting her heart at ease.

“Though from the piles of presents I found in your room… I can see my fears were quite unfounded.”

“As I said, you don’t know me.” Beruka had meant for the words to have more bite to them, but found herself liking the softer edge. “Lady Camilla and Selena are like family to me. They’d never let me feel lonely or unappreciated – even if it means they’ll never leave me be.”

Mercedes giggled. “You should count yourself very lucky to have such people in your life. And while you’re quite right that I don’t you know all that well, I can’t help but feel that I’ve learned just a little more about you today. Strange as it may sound, I’m very glad for it – axe and all.”

She paused, glancing back down the hallway for a moment, then looked again at Beruka, regarding her with that same undeserved kindness.

“As it so happens, Beruka, I was just on my way to help with preparations for the feast later today. It’d be wonderful to have your company. If we’re still strangers, as you say, then cooking together is the perfect way for us to get to know each other – don’t you think?”

Beruka, for reasons she couldn’t place, felt inclined to agree. An afternoon of cooking sounded less troublesome than an apology.

* * *

On returning to her room, much later in the evening than she’d anticipated, Beruka finally decided to open the present Mercedes had left her. Inside, she found a small silver necklace embedded with a single blue gem – neither cheap nor excessively garish. There were no traces of poison, no hidden mechanisms, nothing threatening in the slightest. It was exactly what it appeared to be – a thoughtful gift, given out of generosity. A gift far beyond her precious expectations.

Even after spending an entire afternoon with the woman, she still couldn’t understand Mercedes. But she had to admit, viewing the necklace in the mirror, that the gem’s colour made for a pleasing match with her hair; the same soft shade of blue like the sea, shimmering ever so gently in the candlelight.

Applied correctly, she also imagined that it could make for an effective garrotte.

**Author's Note:**

> And with this exceptionally silly bit of fluff, that's a wrap from me until the start of the new year! Here's hoping for a pleasant rest of year, and a far less chaotic 2021...
> 
> If you enjoyed this story (and if you're interested in updates on my writing), feel free to follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ExaltedBrandAO3)!


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